“Look, if you were going to tell me about Bryce, I already know. She told me how he’d been a longtime boyfriend. But she’d broken things off with him.”
Her head popped up. “Aimee mentioned Bryce to you? That’s surprising. She wasn’t one to share personal things.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to talk about yourself to someone you just met. Especially if your plans are to never see them again,” he added wryly.
Her expression turned curious. “You think she’d never intended to see you again?”
“I didn’t then, obviously. But I do now.”
The baby began to squirm and Finn looked down to see that the infant was chewing on his tiny fist. Drool was dripping off his chin and Finn carefully wiped it away with his forefinger. Just touching the baby’s face and looking into his dark blue eyes filled Finn’s heart with a fierce protectiveness. If Harry was his son, he wouldn’t let anyone or anything keep him from taking the baby home to the Silver Horn. And that included the black-haired beauty who was eyeing him as though he were the devil himself.
*
Across the small nursery, Mariah was having all sorts of trouble dragging her gaze away from the rugged Nevada cowboy. A few minutes ago, when she’d opened the door and found herself standing face-to-face with Finn Calhoun, she’d felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet.
She’d expected Finn’s appearance to be a bit more than average, otherwise Aimee would’ve never taken a second glance at him. But this guy was leaps and bounds beyond average.
At least two or three inches over six feet, he towered over her. Broad shoulders sat over a long torso that narrowed down to a lean waist and tall, muscular legs. Yet his hard, wiry body was only a part of his striking appearance, she realized. His face was a composite of tough angles and slopes. A jutting chin, hollow cheekbones and rough-hewn lips were softened by a pair of dazzling blue eyes partially hidden by a thick fringe of copper-colored lashes. Slightly darker hair of the same color curled wildly around his ears and against the back of his neck, while a set of white teeth made a startling contrast against his tanned skin.
Oh, he was a looker all right, Mariah decided. But that didn’t necessarily make him daddy material. Especially if he used those looks to go around seducing women. Still, in all honesty, she didn’t know if this man had done the seducing or if Aimee had been the initiator of their romance. And it hardly mattered now. The only question that should be on her mind was whether he’d actually fathered little Harry.
Reining in her wandering thoughts, Mariah said, “Aimee dated Bryce for over three years and wanted to marry him, but he kept putting her off. He was divorced and wasn’t ready to try marriage again. That’s why—well, Aimee once told me she was tempted to get pregnant so that Bryce would feel obligated to marry her. But she said he was always too careful about such things and she wasn’t sure how she could manage it. I told her she was crazy to even consider such a scheme. Being pregnant wouldn’t necessarily force Bryce into marrying her, anyway.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion and Mariah could see that he was stung by the notion that Aimee might have used him, especially to coerce another man into marrying her.
“That’s one of the most conniving, deceitful things I’ve ever heard. If that’s the way Aimee’s mind worked, then she might’ve had other affairs. Harry’s father might be someone you never heard of!”
The anguished look on his face implied he wanted Harry to be his son. The notion surprised Mariah. Most single guys his age would be running backward at the idea of taking on the responsibility of a baby.
Her gaze continued to roam his rugged face and the big hands gently cradling the baby. “Look, I’m just saying she harbored those ideas. I have no proof she was trying to carry them out with you or any man. For my sister’s sake, I’d like to think Harry was innocently conceived.”
“With me?”
An awkward silence followed his question, and with each second that passed, the more Mariah had to fight to keep from jumping from the rocker and rushing out of the nursery. Something about this man and her sister sharing a passionate weekend together was an image she wanted to push from her mind.
“Well, I’d hate to think she falsely put your name on the birth certificate. And I’d sure hate to think that Harry’s father might always be a question mark.”
He looked down at the baby. “I’d never let that happen to this little guy.”
Feeling like a jumble of raw nerves, she restlessly crossed her legs and began to tap the air with her bare foot. The movement must have caught his attention because she suddenly noticed his gaze slowly slipping from her face and traveling downward, over her leg and onto her foot.
Heat instantly flooded her cheeks and she mentally scolded herself for not slipping on her shoes before she’d answered the door. But it was a warm May afternoon and certainly pleasant enough in the house to go without footwear.
You’re reacting like a foolish teenager, Mariah. Finn doesn’t find anything fascinating about your pink toenails. And he hasn’t come to Stallion Canyon to ogle you in any form or fashion. He’s here because of Harry and no other reason.
Clearing her throat, she blocked out the scolding voice in her head and tried to form a sensible question. “So you’re saying you want Harry to be your son?”
To her relief, his gaze returned to Harry and as he studied the child, she could see something that looked an awfully lot like love move over his features. The sight smacked Mariah right in the middle of her heart. A man was supposed to care that much for his child, she thought. Yet a part of her had been hoping Finn would be the irresponsible type. That he’d gladly hand the responsibility of raising Harry over to her. But it was becoming clear that he had no intention of stepping aside. So where was that going to leave her?
He said, “This wasn’t the way I’d planned on becoming a father. But now that I have Harry in my arms, it feels right and good.”
She folded her hands together atop her lap and tried to keep the confused emotions swirling inside her from showing on her face.
“So you believe he’s actually your son?” she asked guardedly.
“I do. I think you’d have to agree that he takes after me. The red in his hair and dimples in his cheeks.”
“Maybe. But that’s hardly proof.”
Frowning, he moved closer to where she sat, and Mariah instinctively placed a hand on each arm of the rocker and both feet flat on the floor.
“Something in your voice says you’re hoping I won’t be the father,” he said tersely.
A blush scalded her cheeks. “I only want what’s best for Harry.”
He eyed her with cool conviction. “I don’t know what sort of man you think I am, Ms. Montgomery, but—”
“Please, call me Mariah,” she interrupted. “Calling me Ms. Montgomery makes me feel like I’m in the classroom.”
Distracted now, he latched onto her last word. “Classroom? You’re a teacher?”
“High school. History. That surprises you?”
Confusion flitted across his rugged face. “Aimee insinuated that Stallion Canyon was a profitable horse ranch. I just assumed the ranch was your livelihood, too.”
A dead weight sank to the pit of her stomach as she slowly pushed herself out of the rocker. “I’ll explain in the kitchen. It’s time for Harry’s bottle and I’m sure you could do with some coffee or something.”
“Coffee sounds good,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”
*
With the baby cuddled safely against his chest, Finn followed Mariah out of the nursery and down a hallway that eventually intersected a small breezeway. Once there, she turned left down another short hallway until they reached a wide arched opening.
“We used to have a cook, but we had to let her go,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Hopefully, you can tolerate my coffeemaking.”
They stepped into a rectangle-shaped kitchen with a ceiling opened to the rafters and a floor covered
with ceramic tile patterned in dark blues and greens. To the right side of the room a round oak table and chairs were positioned near a group of wide windows covered with sheer blue curtains. To the left, white wooden cabinets with glass doors lined two whole walls, while a large work island also served as a breakfast bar.
Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Have a seat at the bar or the table. Wherever you’d like. I’ll get the coffee going, then heat Harry’s bottle.”
Since he was closer to the bar, Finn sank onto one of the padded stools and propped the baby in a comfortable upright position against his left arm. So far the tot seemed to be a good-natured boy. He hadn’t yet let out a cry or even a fussy whine, but living in the same house with Rafe’s two children, Colleen and Austin, had taught Finn that a baby’s demeanor could change in an instant.
“What was wrong with the cook?” he asked curiously. “Burned the food?”
Greta, their family cook back on the Silver Horn Ranch, had been with them for more than thirty years. He couldn’t imagine anyone but her making their meals and ruling the kitchen.
Over at the cabinet counter, Mariah was busy pouring water into a coffeemaker. He was still trying to grasp the fact that she was a teacher. Apparently, being in a classroom full of kids was a more comfortable job to her than sitting atop a horse.
You’re wondering too much about the woman, Finn. It doesn’t matter what she does for a living or for fun. Once you take Harry away from here, you probably won’t see her again. Unless she comes to the Horn to visit Harry from time to time.
Was that the way it was going to be? Finn asked himself. Was it already settled in Finn’s mind that Harry belonged to him? That the baby belonged on the Silver Horn with him?
Mariah’s voice suddenly interrupted the heavy questions pushing through his thoughts.
“Cora was a great cook. She’d worked here for years. But after Dad died, money got tight. We had to start cutting corners.”
There was an embittered tone to her voice. One that shouldn’t belong to someone so young and pretty, he decided. Sure, she’d obviously had to deal with her fair share of raw deals. But that didn’t mean she needed to keep dragging those disappointments behind her.
“Aimee talked about your father passing away,” he told her. “I could see she was still pretty cut up about his death.”
“Aimee and Dad were very close. She was just like him—obsessed with horses. Especially the wild ones,” she added bluntly.
Was Mariah trying to say that Aimee had possessed a wild streak? Had Aimee shared her bed with Finn because she’d liked living recklessly? Or had she, as Mariah had implied, used him to get pregnant? Whatever the reason, it was clear that Aimee hadn’t been completely honest with him, and that left Finn feeling like a fool for ever getting involved with her in the first place.
The baby let out a short cry and Finn looked down to see that the child was gnawing on his fist. “Harry, you must be hungry or teething,” he said to the boy.
Finn’s voice caught the baby’s attention and Harry went quiet as he stared curiously up at him. Finn used the moment to touch his forefinger to the baby’s hand, and instantly the tiny fingers latched tightly around his. Harry’s response filled Finn with a fierce love and protection he’d never experienced before. Father or not, the baby needed him.
As another thought suddenly struck him, he glanced over to where Mariah was gathering mugs from the cabinet. “Do you have a copy of Harry’s birth certificate?”
“I have the original. It’s safely stored with my important documents. Harry’s name is registered as Harrison Ray Calhoun—the Ray being our father’s name.” She turned a pointed look on him. “So where do we go from here? A DNA test?”
He’d been waiting for her to say those three little letters. The birth certificate stated Finn as the father, but Mariah wasn’t yet ready to accept that as complete validation. And perhaps she was right. After all, a child’s parentage was a serious matter. Yet seeing Harry and holding the little guy in his arms had caused some kind of upheaval inside Finn.
He didn’t understand what had come over him. All he knew was that this child had suddenly become everything to him. The idea that a clinical test could say otherwise chilled Finn to the very bottom of his being.
“I suppose that would be the logical thing to do. That way his parentage would never be in doubt,” Finn said with slow thoughtfulness. “I just wish it wasn’t necessary. I don’t want Harry to grow up and learn that the identity of his father was ever in question.”
Forgetting her task, she walked over and placed a hand on Harry’s back. “I don’t necessarily want that for him, either. But I want him to have the ‘right’ father.”
He slanted her a wry look. “Don’t you mean you want him to have the right ‘parent’?”
Her long black lashes lowered and partially hid the thoughts flickering in her gray eyes.
“What do you mean?”
The threads of his patience were quickly snapping. “Don’t act clueless. You want to keep Harry for yourself. You’re hoping like hell that I won’t be the father.”
Her mouth fell open. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it all over your face. Hear it in your voice.”
Shaking her head, she turned her back to him. “If that were true, then why did I call you? I didn’t have to, you know,” she said, her voice heavy with resentment. “I could’ve kept Harry all to myself.”
He instinctively cradled the baby closer to his chest. “Yeah, you could’ve left me in the dark. But then you couldn’t have lived with your conscience. Or with Harry, once he grew old enough to start asking about his father. You’d have to make up a lie to tell him why you didn’t make an effort to contact me. Then one lie starts leading to another. You’re not that kind of woman. The kind that can live on a bed of lies.”
She whirled around to face him and Finn was struck by the moisture collecting in her eyes. He didn’t want to hurt this black-haired beauty. She’d already been hurt enough. But she needed to understand that he wasn’t a fool. Or at the mercy of her wants and wishes.
“You don’t know what kind of person I am! We’ve only just met.” A sneer twisted her lips as she raked a disapproving gaze over him. “But then I need to remember you jumped into bed with Aimee right after you met her. I suppose you thought you knew her, too!”
His jaw tight, he said, “Your crude observations don’t embarrass me, Mariah. But they do have me wondering. Maybe you’d like an invitation into my bed.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief, then turned to cold steel. “That’s the most insulting, despicable thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Is it?” he asked softly.
A scarlet blush crept over her face. “Look, Mr. Calhoun, the only thing you need to concern yourself with is the result of Harry’s DNA test. And the faster we can get those done, the happier I’ll be!”
Chapter Two
Finn watched Mariah stalk to the opposite end of the kitchen and thump a pair of empty mugs onto a plastic tray. He’d never spoken that way to any woman before and he wasn’t quite sure what had prompted such a thing to come out of his mouth. Except that ever since he’d arrived on this ranch, she’d been subtly goading him. As though she considered it okay for her to judge him as a cad for having a romantic interlude with Aimee. As if she were infallible and would never stoop to such human impulses.
With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet and walked over to where she was pulling a baby bottle filled with formula from the refrigerator. After giving him a cursory glance, she shut the door on the appliance and moved over to a microwave. Finn felt compelled to follow.
“I’m sorry, Mariah,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I was way out of line.”
While the microwave whirred, she kept her back to him. It wasn’t until the bell dinged that she retrieved the bottle, then turned to face him.
“Then why did you say it?” she a
sked stiffly.
The icy stare she’d stabbed him with earlier was gone. Now her gray eyes were dark with shadows, and Finn realized his question had touched far more than just her female pride. The notion made him feel even worse.
“Because you seemed set on judging me for spending a weekend with Aimee. That’s not— Well, for your information, I don’t go around having affairs, short or long, on a regular basis! Yet you want to make me out as a cad. What’s the matter with you? Are you a prude or something?”
Outrage popped her mouth open and Finn expected her to flounce off in huff. But after a moment, her shoulders sagged and she glanced away. “Making a baby is a serious thing,” she murmured.
She was avoiding his question, but he was hardly going to point that out to her now, Finn decided. Besides, he had the feeling that before this ordeal with Harry was finished, he was going to find out plenty about Mariah Montgomery.
“That’s why I’m here,” he said curtly. “Because there is a baby. A baby who’s lost his mother.”
She reached for Harry then, but Finn continued to hold him firmly against his chest. “Give me the bottle. I’d like to feed my son.”
Her chin came up to a challenging angle. “It’s yet to be determined whether Harry is your child, Mr. Calhoun.”
“You decided that. I didn’t. I agreed to a DNA test because you wanted one and my family back home wants one. But as far as I’m concerned, Harry has Calhoun blood running through his veins. And by the way,” he added, “call me Finn. When you say Mr. Calhoun you make me think you’re addressing my grandfather.”
“All right, Finn. I guess I should appreciate your frankness. At least I’m not in the dark about where you stand with Harry.”
She handed him the bottle. Finn carried it and the baby back over to the breakfast bar. After he’d taken a seat on one of the stools, he cradled Harry in a comfortable position in the crook of his left arm and offered him the warm bottle.
“Here’s your dinner, little one,” he told the baby. “Go for it.”
The infant latched onto the nipple with a hunger that brought a faint smile to Finn’s lips. Oh, what a stir this little guy was going to make on the Silver Horn, he thought. Especially with his grandfather Bart, who was all for the expansion of the Calhoun family.
Daddy Wore Spurs (Mills & Boon Cherish) (Men of the West, Book 32) Page 2