by Silver James
He took another sip of wine, watching her, assessing her mood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“Yes. And you still haven’t been honest with me.”
Jolie closed her eyes and her shoulders drooped. Cord almost felt sorry for her. He definitely wanted to take her in his arms, hold and kiss her, to tell her how he felt, that everything would be all right, over and over again until she believed him. Instead, he waited—outwardly calm but coiled like a tight spring on the inside.
“It was a one-night stand, Cord. That’s all. Payback. I didn’t have feelings for you anymore.”
“Liar.” He smiled when he said the word.
“I didn’t,” she protested. “And then, bam. Two months later, I find out I’m pregnant. I know how you think. How all of you think. I’m not stupid.”
“I never thought you were.” His forehead furrowed in consternation. “But I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
“You. Your brothers. How many paternity suits have been brought against you?”
He blinked in surprise. “Me? None. Clay’s cleaner than a bottle of bleach. Chance was too careful. Same with Cash.” His lips curled into a wry smirk. “Chase, however, has probably made the headlines more than he should. But, sunshine, that has nothing to do with us. With you and me.”
“Don’t sunshine me.” Jolie huffed out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “Still.”
“Still what?”
“Just...still. You didn’t love me. I didn’t want to trap you into a relationship that you’d end up hating me for. Besides, you wouldn’t have listened.”
His smile disappeared, and he leaned close enough to cup her cheek in his palm. “Do you believe that? That I didn’t love you?” Had he never told her? He couldn’t, for his life, remember if he had or not. Had she ever said the words to him? To his embarrassment, he couldn’t remember that, either. He’d just assumed she knew how he felt. “I did. I do.” He shoved his other hand back into his pocket, closing his fingers around the box, but he could already feel the moment slipping away. Until he was fairly certain she’d say yes, Cord was not going to ask her to marry him.
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, sunshine, I’m not. I do love you. I love CJ, too. I want the world to know he’s my son—that we made something special together.”
She tilted her head away from his hand, so he dropped it to the table and leaned back. “You need to stay away, Cord.”
“That’s not going to happen. CJ is mine. No matter what I have to do, I’m going to make sure of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I’ve been saying all along. I want to be a part of CJ’s life. And yours. I want to take care of you both.”
“We don’t need you to take care of us.” Her eyes narrowed in speculation and worry. “Make sure of what? What have you done?” Her face flushed and her hands once again twisted in her lap.
Jolie believed she was always in control of her emotions. Cord knew better. He’d swallowed her screams as she came apart in his arms when they’d made love. He’d absorbed her tears and anger. He’d made her laugh and had laughed with her. She was his everything, no matter what she said.
“Nothing.” His gaze never left her face. “Yet. Chance drafted some paperwork. CJ is my son. I want to petition the court to issue an amended birth certificate.” He covered her hands with his and she tensed. “You know I want to be his father legally, Jolie. It’s for his protection.”
She jerked away and scooted her chair back. He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “The accident made me think, sunshine. About the future. About my life. I didn’t know CJ even existed, but I do now. I could have died. I want to make sure our son is provided for.”
Jolie hissed like a cat dunked in a bucket of cold water. “I have more than enough assets to take care of CJ. And Dad set up a trust when he was born.”
“He’s still my son, Jolie. I want us to be a family.”
“No.” She looked around in a panic. “I’m not ready for this, Cord.”
Cord concentrated on remaining calm. “Please don’t fight me, Jolie. I don’t want to go to court. For CJ’s sake.”
“If you really cared about CJ, you’d drop this. You can hang around with him. That’s fine. But you aren’t his father. No matter how many papers you file. You never will be.”
“Never? That’s not a threat you want to make.”
Sixteen
Cord watched Cassie and Miz Beth maneuver around each other in the kitchen. Big John sprawled on one of the oversize stools pulled up to the breakfast bar, begging for tastes with big puppy-dog eyes. The women laughed and teased him as they sailed by, intent on chores only they could accomplish. Cash and Chase played pool in the game room, volleying good-natured, if loud, bets with each stroke of the pool cue. Chance and CJ were flipping through TV channels waiting for the football games to start.
The only Barron brother missing was Clay. He was in the house, but holed up in the study with his speechwriter, Georgie. Politics were afoot and Cord suspected his US Senator brother was looking into a run at the presidency. This was a working vacation for Clay. Georgie had no family as far as Cord knew, so she’d been welcomed into the impromptu family group for Thanksgiving.
He had only one regret. Jolie had refused to come. The fight they’d had three weeks ago still stank up the atmosphere. He hadn’t meant to push things, but he was tired of waiting. He wanted her to agree that he had a legal—and emotional—right to CJ. And her. He wanted to marry her, wanted them to be a family. He glanced around again. She’d fit right in with Miz Beth and Cassie. His brothers would come to love her, too.
He’d cajoled, Jolie had haggled and finally they had compromised. He’d proved Cyrus would not make an appearance and she’d reluctantly relented, allowing CJ to come for Thanksgiving. He’d asked her to come again when he’d picked up CJ that morning. She’d refused, tight-lipped and still angry, muttering about his father’s shortcomings. She was right. Cyrus wasn’t prone to family occasions. He’d left that up to the mothers who’d provided his sons. After Helen, the second Mrs. Barron’s death, each wife du jour got younger and younger, and they usually wanted to travel to exotic places rather than deal with a pack of rowdy boys. Miz Beth and Big John had organized the holidays. Birthday parties. Thanksgiving with all the trimmings. Christmas. They’d provided chocolate bunnies and Easter egg hunts, Fourth of July watermelons and Halloween trick-or-treating.
Feeling melancholy, Cord wandered into the great room and sank into one of the massive leather chairs. Sprawling his legs out, he pasted a smile on his face as CJ started jabbering about football teams and who he wanted to win. Chance caught Cord’s eye above the boy’s head and winked. He grinned at his brother, surprised by the feelings of contentment stealing over him. They hadn’t gathered as a family since Chance’s wedding. They’d paused in their busy lives to celebrate, and then scattered almost as soon as the reception ended. Cord’s near-death experience didn’t count because his brothers had visited in shifts. Today was different—laid-back, Clay’s work notwithstanding.
The ranch house had evolved through the years, and it now rivaled the house they’d occupied in Nichols Hills when it came to size and amenities. The mansion had never felt like home. This place did. Pictures of all of them as kids lined the rough-hewn fireplace mantel. Colorful Southwest-patterned rugs and blankets added cheer to the great room. The homey scents of roasting turkey, pumpkin pie and baking rolls perfumed the air. Cord wanted this feeling. Wanted this sense of family with his heart and soul. All he needed to do was win Jolie back.
Before he could focus on what he should do to ensure his success, Cassie called them to the table. CJ happily dashed through the house to get “Uncle Clay and the pretty lady.” Wh
en they were seated, more feelings of family swamped Cord. The massive oak table had come down through the family. Scarred, sanded and refinished countless times through the generations, it was one of the few stable things in their lives. Miz Beth sat at the end nearest the kitchen. Georgie, Clay’s assistant, sat on Miz Beth’s right, Clay beside her, then Cord and CJ. Big John sat at the other end. On his right down the opposite side sat Cassie, Chance, Chase and Cash. There was room for even more chairs.
Big John said grace, and then food was passed around the table, the Barron brothers fighting over drumsticks, white meat, olives and rolls. CJ had pitted black olives stuck on all the fingers of his left hand and was eating them one by one. No one told him that was rude. This was Thanksgiving.
Dinner ended with pumpkin, pecan, rhubarb, apple and chocolate meringue pies, and CJ winning the wishbone break with Cash—a family tradition for the two youngest Barron males. CJ chortled and bounced on his toes beside the table.
“I win. I win, Uncle Cash. What do I win?”
Rolling his eyes, Cash pushed back from the table and stood. “Ask your father.” He turned on his heel and strode away, angry for a reason Cord couldn’t fathom. CJ’s exuberance captured his attention.
“Daddy, Daddy, what do I win?”
“You get a wish, CJ. And since you won, your wish is supposed to come true.”
Cassie slipped her hand into Chance’s, smiling at the little boy as she asked, “What do you wish for, CJ?”
A look that Cord almost thought sly slid across his son’s face before he spoke. “I want a dog. An’ a horse. And Mommy and Daddy.”
Cord grabbed CJ and hugged him tightly. “Good wish, bubba.”
An hour later, dishes were done and the football game was playing on the massive plasma-screen television. CJ was all but asleep on the floor in front of the TV. Cassie and Georgie visited quietly in a small sitting area off the great room. Big John snored in his chair and Miz Beth had disappeared with a picnic basket. Cord suspected she’d headed to Kaden’s house. He’d been surprised the foreman wasn’t present. Miz Beth would only say that he’d been invited, but had declined. His brothers had disappeared, but Cord didn’t care.
Full and happy, he sprawled in the chair, legs propped on the matching ottoman. His eyes drifted shut as the commentators droned on the TV. Family. His might be dysfunctional, but he truly believed they were finally getting their lives in order and their loyalties on track. Then his phone dinged. A text message.
Cord sat up and rubbed his eyes. The women were visiting in the kitchen while Big John and CJ napped through the football game on TV. He checked the message.
COME TO OLD MANS CONF RM 4 MEETING
Cash had sent it. Cord heaved out of the chair and headed toward the hallway that led deeper into the private areas of the house. The room next to the study had been set up as a conference room. Chance sat on the near side of the table. Looking more like twins than ever, Chase and Cash sat opposite him. Clay sat at one end, and the old man himself occupied the chair at the head. What the hell was Cyrus doing back? Cord’s first thought centered on Jolie, and he was glad she hadn’t come. His second took a moment to catch up. This wasn’t a meeting. This was a Barron family intervention.
When had his father arrived? And why hadn’t Chance warned him? Too late now. He stared at each of his brothers. Chase and Clay had the good graces not to meet his gaze. Cash smirked and arched a brow. Chance offered a slight nod—the only sign of solidarity he’d get in this group. Now knowing how Chance had felt last spring when they’d all ganged up on him over Cassie, Cord braced his shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Took you long enough.” His father’s glare went nuclear when Cord simply lifted a shoulder in acknowledgment. “Sit down.” Cyrus gritted out the order.
“Thanks, but I’m comfortable right here.” Oh, yeah. He had the height advantage standing up and wasn’t about to relinquish it.
Cyrus grimaced and turned his baleful stare on Clay, who had to swivel uncomfortably around in his chair to speak directly to Cord. The glance was his older brother’s cue to deliver the coup de grâce. Cord waited, more curious than worried.
Clay cleared his throat, unusual for the brother raised to be first and foremost in the public eye. “Cord, please come in and sit down.”
“I can’t stay long, Clay. I have to get CJ home. Spit out whatever words the old man is putting in your mouth so we can all get back to our lives.”
Cash snorted and leaned back in his chair, the picture of negligent disdain. “I’ll spit it out. You need to sign the papers Chance drew up to get your son away from that bi—”
No one had a chance to intercept him as Cord came over the top of the conference table, sliding across the polished surface to land on his feet in front of Cash’s chair. He knocked Cash backward and twisted his fist in his brother’s pristine shirtfront. “You watch your mouth, little brother. Jolie is the mother of my child. You will speak of her with respect.”
The room had gone dead silent. Cash had a couple of inches and about twenty pounds on him, and Cord still wasn’t back to 100 percent from the accident, but he was so filled with righteous anger that he was positive he could take the other man. He might be mad at Jolie, but no one in his family had the right to say anything about her.
Cash’s smirk widened, but he lowered his eyes in a brief display of submission. Cord loosened his grip, straightened and with a deliberate stride, returned to the doorway. “That goes for the rest of you. CJ is my son. I’m dealing with this situation.” At least he hoped he could without things escalating further. Due to Jolie’s continued stubbornness on the matter, he wasn’t too sure.
His gaze zeroed in on his father. “I’m not a stupid frat boy anymore, old man. You keep that in mind. What I do with Jolie and our son is none of your business.” He pinned each of his brothers with the same glare. “That goes for the rest of you, as well. We clear?”
Nobody moved. Chase continued to stare at his hands lying clasped in his lap. Cash glared back. Clay briefly met his gaze before looking away. Chance’s eyes twinkled, though his expression gave nothing away. This was all the satisfaction Cord would get from his brothers, but he hammered the point home with his father. “I mean it, Cyrus. I know you. I know what you did to Chance and Cassie. I’m warning you here and now. Don’t mess with Jolie and CJ. Don’t mess with me.”
His old man slowly clapped his hands in derisive applause. “You always were a disappointment, boy. I’ve given you time and enough rope to tie up this deal, but you’ve always been weak. That boy is a Barron. He belongs with his family. Get it done. Or else.” He glanced at Clay. “My study, now.” Pivoting, Cyrus headed to the connecting door. Clay exhaled a heavy breath, rose and followed their father. The door closed behind him, the sharp sound like a period ending the conversation.
Cord turned to duck out the door, ignoring the twins, but he offered Chance a brief tuck of his chin in acknowledgment of Chance’s support. He needed to grab CJ and get the hell away. Sometimes it really sucked to be a Barron. He didn’t believe for a New York minute that his father would back down. Cyrus wanted control—of his companies, his sons and now his grandson, and the old man wasn’t squeamish when it came to playing dirty.
Halfway along the hall, a closed door caught his attention. The back stairs to the playroom. The hairs on his neck prickled. He hadn’t been up there since...he couldn’t remember when. He wanted to go up, look around, but hesitated. Surely Clay would keep their father occupied for a while. He’d have time to satisfy his curiosity before taking CJ back to Jolie. He opened the door and slipped through. The bare-wood stairs were dusty. Considering Miz Beth’s almost obsessive need to clean, the neglect surprised him. The steps stopped at a wide landing with a door. A right turn led to a long hallway that curved back toward the bedrooms.
The thick wooden door looked jus
t as he remembered it—odd colors of flaking paint, wrought iron hinges and door handle, grooves embedded in the wood. He traced his fingers over the scratches and spelled out each of their names, carved meticulously with a pocket knife. He still had a scar on his hand from the exercise. He pressed the handle and pushed. The door swung open on rusty hinges. He stepped inside and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Unerringly, he crossed the floor to the nearest window.
Cord flicked the blinds and watched dust motes dance in the late-afternoon sunlight. He hadn’t stepped inside this room in years. Part nursery, part playroom, it contained the detritus of five boys growing up. Clay’s bookcase full of biographies and histories. Chance’s hard-plastic palomino spring horse, its metal frame rusty. Mud-stained equipment bags full of leather gloves and baseball bats belonging to Cash and Chase. A deep set of shelves under one of the room’s windows that held games and a whole motor pool of toy trucks and cars. He smiled and hoped CJ liked trucks as much as he had. He’d bet money half of his collection was still buried out in the yard somewhere.
Picking through boxes, he relived memories from childhood. Not all of them were good, which added a layer of melancholy to his search. He glanced around and realized there was something up here he wanted to look at. He found what he’d been searching for over in the corner. The Barron family cradle, the wood carved and shaped by the hands of his great-great-grandfather. Five generations of Barron babies had slept in that cradle. He rubbed dust off with his hand, fingering the spindles turned on a hand lathe. Five generations. But not the sixth. Not his son.
Jolie had robbed him of that by stealing his son away, by running from him without a word. He’d missed almost five years of his son’s life. And her pregnancy. A profound sadness settled on his shoulders. Every time he tried to talk to her about it, she threw up walls.
You wouldn’t have listened.
She’d flung the words at him as if they shielded her from responsibility. He damn well was listening now, wasn’t he? She was the one turning deaf ears to him. Fine. He was a Barron and so was CJ. Cordell Joseph Barron, even if the damn birth certificate listed Davis as his last name.