The Billionaire's Baby Negotiation

by Day Leclaire

  “Oh, Joc,” she whispered.

  “Listen to me, Red.” A hint of strain colored his words, as though he were fighting a pitched battle. And maybe he was. It occurred to her that this was probably the most important negotiation of his life. “We can make this work. I know we can. There’s something there between us. Something that binds us. Something more than the baby.”

  She fought to keep every scrap of hope from her voice. “Are you saying you love me?”

  “I don’t know how to love. That’s the God’s honest truth.” His jaw worked for a moment. “But I’m willing to try.”

  “Marrying you won’t change my need for roots. Having your baby won’t either. If anything it sends those roots that much deeper.” Unable to help herself, she cupped his face in her hands. “You have to know what you’re letting yourself in for.”

  “I have a fair idea.”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t just me, Joc. You’ll also have to deal with those roots you dread. That connection you deny. Our son or daughter will grow strong and tall.” She feathered a kiss across his mouth, encouraged by his instant response, a response that came without hesitation or forethought. “And it will be at Longhorn. That’s where he or she will learn to appreciate the land and the importance of emotional integrity over materialistic excess. I want my child raised there, not out of some corporate headquarters or quasi-palace. And if they are raised there, they’ll put down more roots, roots you won’t be able to yank free any more than you could mine.”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “Then I won’t marry you and there’s nothing you can do to force me into it.” She released him and stepped away, allowing cool air to replace the warmth of her embrace. An odd smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “For some reason I’ve been having these bizarre dreams about trees. I don’t know, maybe it’s the change in hormones. Whatever the cause, it made me realize something. Some trees can’t reproduce without being grafted, one onto another.”

  He tilted his head to one side, considering. “Is that what we’ve done, Red? Have we grafted onto each other?”

  Her smile grew. “I haven’t heard what we were doing that night on Deseos described quite that way before. But however you want to put it, the graft took. Our tree is definitely reproducing.”

  “True enough.” He gave her offer some serious thought. “I’m beginning to understand why Hades forced Persephone to live in the Underworld with him each winter. At least that way he had her in his world for part of each year.”

  “Is that what you want to negotiate next? You want me to play Persephone to your Hades?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.” He dropped his head and considered for a moment. “If I agree that our son or daughter—all of our sons and daughters—will be raised at Longhorn, will you marry me?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Yes, Joc. I’ll marry you. And I’m hoping, really hoping, that Longhorn will be as much your home as it’s been mine.”

  “Then we have an agreement.”

  She released her breath in an exasperated sigh. “Why do I feel as though we should be shaking hands?”

  “There’s only one way to seal a bargain with you.” He approached, his movements filled with a lazy grace. He slid his hand beneath her hair along her nape and eased her up to meet his kiss. He took his time, the kiss slow and thorough and filled with unmistakable hunger. When he finally released her, he said, “There’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period before we can marry. Or we can fly to Vegas and get it done in the morning.”

  She continued to stare at him, trying to see past the barriers straight to his heart and soul. “You and I, we’re Texans, Joc. This is where we should marry.”

  He nodded in agreement. “What do you say we apply for that license first thing in the morning?”

  “I’d like that.”

  His voice lowered, roughened. “I swear I won’t let you down.”

  And that was all it took. She fell into his arms and allowed herself to believe, to believe that somehow it would all work out and that this marriage they contemplated had a real shot at success. To believe that one day he’d fall in love with her.

  Because somehow, at some point, Little Red Riding Hood had fallen in love with the Big, Bad Wolf.

  Perhaps it was the silence that woke him, that hushed moment where night gave over to day. That particular instant when the creatures that serenaded the night fell silent and those that welcomed the day slept. Or maybe it was the absolute rightness of having Rosalyn back in his arms, tucked so close that Joc couldn’t distinguish between her heartbeat and his own.

  He’d never before experienced such contentment. Never known such pleasure and satisfaction. It was the baby, he tried to tell himself. That explained the connection he felt to Rosalyn. She was pregnant and he was the man responsible. He’d have felt the same no matter who carried his child.

  An image of other women and other occasions flickered in and out of his head, offering a swift reminiscence of time and place and romantic encounter. And one by one he dismissed them, dismissed them all without so much as a moment’s hesitation. They were wrong, each and every one of them. Worse, it felt wrong thinking about them with Rosalyn sound asleep in his arms.

  The time had come to face facts.

  This woman was different. He’d known it from the moment he’d first set eyes on her. Everything within him urged him to take her. To keep her. To protect her with every ounce of power, money and skill at his disposal.

  He closed his eyes, facing the unpalatable truth. And even that wouldn’t be sufficient. Rosalyn didn’t want his power or his money or his skill. She only wanted one thing, whether she recognized the truth or not. She wanted his heart—a heart he wasn’t sure he possessed.

  Because loving meant trusting. Loving meant surrender. Loving meant loss, or the risk of loss. It was fine to demand those things from others so long as he remained protected from the threat they posed. How long had he worked to ensure just that? A lifetime. Somehow Rosalyn had changed all that. She’d stormed into his life and altered him in some indelible way. He couldn’t go back to the man he was. Nor could he allow this current opportunity to slip away.

  “Joc?”

  He smiled at the way his name escaped her throat—half moan, or was it more of a groan? “I’m here, Red.”

  Her eyes remained shut, her voice faint and wistful. “I had a dream. We planted the most incredible tree, the biggest tree in the entire world. And it grew into a giant forest filled with all these magical creatures. I wish we could go there.”

  He brushed her mouth with a kiss. “Did I help you plant the tree?”

  “Of course. Joc?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Let’s go plant a tree tomorrow.”

  He closed his eyes, filled with a contentment unlike any he’d felt before. “I’d like that.”

  Even more he’d like to be around to watch it grow and spread its branches, to fill up the sky and seed an entire forest. Somehow that appealed far more than any project currently resting on his desk. For that matter, it appealed far more than any project that had ever crossed his desk.

  And in that hushed moment where night gave over to day, that peculiar instant when the creatures that serenaded the night fell silent and those that welcomed the day slept, Joc surrendered to the inevitable. His hand slipped around her waist and cupped his future, warming it within his palm.

  No, not his future. Their future.

  They woke the next morning to disaster. A call from Claire had them driving out to Longhorn as quickly as the speed limit allowed. Off in the distance, rain-laden thunderheads piled up, tumbling closer with each mile they covered.

  “I don’t understand,” Rosalyn fussed. “Why wouldn’t she tell us what’s wrong?”

  “She’ll explain when we get there,” Joc tried to assure her.

  Rosalyn felt the color bleed from her face. “There’s been another fire. Someone’s bu
rned down the ranch house.”

  “We wouldn’t be meeting Claire there if that were the case. Stay calm, Red. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

  And with that, she had to be satisfied. To her relief, the homestead still stood, and her heart quickened at the sight. Until they’d pulled into the long, gravel driveway, she hadn’t realized how much she missed being home. She could see Claire standing on the porch, tension vibrating off her motherly frame.

  Rosalyn jumped out of the car the instant Joc pulled to a stop. “What’s the problem?” she demanded.

  “I’ll give it to you straight. Some townie sashayed in here and insisted to see you. I tried to run her off, but she wouldn’t budge. Said she’d wait until you got home. Rosalyn…” Claire twisted her hands together. “She’s claiming she owns the place.”

  “What?” Rosalyn tried to laugh, but for some reason her throat had gone bone-dry. She shoved open the front door and stepped into the foyer, just as the skies opened. Rain slapped against the glass panels on either side of the front door with an urgent staccato. “Where is she?”

  “I put her in the living room.”

  Joc stepped forward. “Red—”

  She spun to confront him. “Do you know anything about this?”

  There was a long, hideous pause. Then he asked, “Are you asking if I’ve somehow found a way to steal your ranch from you?”

  She should have been warned by the extreme calm with which he spoke, or the way his eyes went flat and cold. But suspicion had taken hold and nothing would shake it. “Have you found a way?”

  “So much for trust.”

  She could hear a small voice, deep inside, screaming at her to take the words back. But another voice, just as insistent, reminded her that Joc was the sort of man who wanted it all—her, their child and her ranch. And if an opportunity presented itself to seize control and gain leverage over the situation, he’d take it. Especially if it gave him everything he wanted.

  “Let’s find out what’s going on,” she said, ignoring his comment.

  She turned on her heel and hastened down the flag-stone steps into the living room. She caught her first glimpse of their visitor and nearly gasped in shock. Behind her, she heard Joc swear. Then, “MacKenzie, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m checking out my latest acquisition.” She leaned back in the chair she’d commandeered and crossed her legs. “What are you doing here, brother dear?”

  The wind kicked up, rattling the shutters while the rain began clawing at the windowpanes. “I belong here, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Not anymore. You and your…” She lifted an eyebrow. “Friend?”

  “Fiancée.”

  MacKenzie laughed. “That’s rich.”

  “Stop it, both of you!” Rosalyn burst out. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  MacKenzie swung her foot back and forth in a leisurely rhythm. “It’s really very simple. You’re a pawn, my dear. My brother wanted your land, which means so do I. In the normal course of things, he’d have found a business angle to use in order to get it. I would have then countered. And in the end, one of us would have won and the other lost.” She glanced in Joc’s direction. “Isn’t that how the game’s played?”

  “This isn’t a game,” he answered.

  “Of course it is. You’ve just changed the rules a bit. Instead of paying for your pleasure, you’ve decided to romance it away from the poor, gullible rancher.” MacKenzie switched her gaze back to Rosalyn. “That’s you, in case you didn’t realize. Only, he’s too late. As soon as I learned he wanted this property, I purchased the note. I then made…oh, let’s call them certain arrangements with a gentleman named Duff. Did you know your ranch hand has a gambling problem?”

  Beside her Joc swore and Rosalyn fought to speak without her voice trembling. “You bribed him?”

  MacKenzie lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I can’t be held responsible if your employee kept forgetting to mail the mortgage. Nor can I be held responsible if you never caught the omission. A piece of advice. You really should balance your bank accounts more often. I’d have thought Joc would have taught you that much, if nothing else.”

  Rosalyn shook her head. “No. That can’t be right.”

  “It’s right.” A hint of sympathy touched the other woman’s face. “You’ll find that when it comes to cutthroat business deals, I’m as good as my brother.”

  “What do you want, MacKenzie?” Joc broke in.

  She offered him a sunny smile. “Not a thing. I have what I came for. You’re just annoyed because I got here ahead of you and managed to block whatever development deal you have going. I guess that land you purchased all around the Oakley place was a waste of good money.” She tisked in mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

  “This has nothing to do with Rosalyn. Don’t put her in the middle.”

  “I didn’t. You did,” his sister shot back. “I warned you about that last night, but as usual the all powerful Joc Arnaud thought he held the winning cards. Well, you don’t.”

  “You’re the one who’s caused all the problems around here,” Rosalyn accused. “The one who burned down my barn.”

  MacKenzie frowned. “I most certainly did not. I merely asked Duff to keep you busy so you wouldn’t have time to realize I was foreclosing on you. I can’t be responsible if he was a trifle overzealous.”

  Rosalyn’s hands balled into fists. “You’re treating this like it’s some sort of game. Or a joke. It’s not! This is my life. This is my home.”

  “Not anymore.” MacKenzie swept to her feet. “You have until the end of the week to clear out.”

  “MacKenzie,” Joc growled. “Don’t do this. She’s an innocent bystander in our little feud.”

  A cold, bitter anger settled over his half sister’s features. Overhead thunder boomed as the storm closed in. “Allow me to make myself clear to both of you. Nothing you say or do will change my mind.”

  Rosalyn drop-kicked her pride. “I’ll make up the payments,” she pleaded.

  Joc dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Red—”

  She shook him off and continued to address MacKenzie. “I have the money. I’ll pay whatever penalty you require. I should have balanced my accounts, I admit that. Please don’t take my home.”

  “I suggest if you want to blame someone for this mess, blame Joc. He’s the one who refuses to sell me the Hollister homestead.” She collected her purse and crossed to the steps leading to the hallway. “Just so we’re clear, I won’t be changing my mind. I suggest you start packing. Because if you’re not out by the end of the week, I’ll send the law out here to forcibly remove you. First thing Monday morning I’m bringing in the bulldozers and I intend to raze every last structure on this land.”

  Rosalyn fought to breathe. No. She couldn’t mean it. She looked at Joc and that’s when she knew. Not only did MacKenzie mean it, but she intended to do it. And there wasn’t a chance in the world that Joc or anyone else could stop her.

  Without a word, Rosalyn shoved past MacKenzie, intent on escape. She raced up the steps and hit the loosened carpet just outside the living room at a dead-run. Too late she remembered that she’d never had it tacked down. She hooked it with her boot heel and started to trip. She pinwheeled in a desperate effort to save herself. For a split second, she thought she’d be able to, that her foolishness wouldn’t meet with disaster. But then she pitched backward toward the stairs. Two thoughts haunted her in those few precious seconds before she hit.

  She’d never told Joc she loved him.

  But far worse, her thoughtlessness had killed her baby.

  Nine

  “Red? Oh God. Talk to me, Red.”

  Joc dropped to her side and carefully lifted the sideboard that had tipped onto her when she’d clipped it falling down the steps. She didn’t move. Yanking out his cell phone, he placed an emergency call. The connection phased in and out because of the storm, making it difficu
lt for him to relay the necessary information. It soon became clear that it would be impossible to send in a Life Flight helicopter given the current weather conditions.

  During the endless minutes that followed, she didn’t stir. More frightened than he could ever remember being, he checked for a pulse. When he found it, he could have bawled like a baby. He spared MacKenzie a deadly glare. “Get out,” he ordered. He didn’t bother watching to see if she obeyed, instead returning to the call. Demanding. Pleading. Swearing.

  The next half hour, as he waited for the EMTs to arrive, proved the longest of his life, driving him to the very brink of despair. If Claire hadn’t been there, her steady, reassuring voice a comforting balm, he’d have totally lost it. He crouched above Rosalyn, more helpless than he’d ever been before in his life. The great Joc Arnaud couldn’t buy or bargain or bribe his way out of this disaster. There was only one thing he could do, something he didn’t remember ever having tried before.

  He prayed.

  Once the emergency personnel arrived, they stabilized Rosalyn before whisking her out to the ambulance. He lost count of the number of times he told them she was pregnant. Or how many times he told them they were supposed to marry in less than seventy-two hours. He offered everything he could think of in exchange for their help in saving her. None of it did any good. The events of that night leaked through his fingers on a course all their own, beyond his ability to direct or control.

  It wasn’t until the paramedics had loaded Rosalyn into the ambulance that he faced a truth he’d been dodging for weeks. He loved her. He loved her more than life itself. How could he have not recognized it sooner? Maybe because he’d never experienced such depth of emotion before, not that it mattered now. During the endless ride to the hospital, he made up for that lapse. He didn’t know whether she heard. He could only hope that somehow, someway, his words slipped through to that realm of oblivion where she hid from him.